


The Grand Scheme Of Things

by bringmedogs



Category: Naruto
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheese, F/M, Lots of people are OOC, Run On Sentences, Sakura is at least 21 when this fic starts, TW for abuse of semicolons, This fic is so dumb but i love it, anyway come for the kakasaku, but who cares, i mean it starts out that way, kind of a crackfic?, lord they run like a monsoon river, of feelings, pretty vanilla as fics go, so disorganised am i that the tone of this story changes with each chapter, stay for the rollercoaster ride, un beta-ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmedogs/pseuds/bringmedogs
Summary: AU. Sakura crushes on her professor. Things get awkward before they get better. First impressions don't mean much in the grand scheme of things, anyway. KakaSaku. Cheese.





	1. Chapter 1

These days Sakura has made a habit of watching Hatake from the corner of her eye. She is equal parts mortified and resigned to the fact that this seems to have become the norm; her compromise is stringent secrecy interspersed with glances at him moving between the shelves of books. She fancies she's fallen in love with his hands, long and angular, with fingers like spiders tracing imaginary lines along each row; fancies him using those hands to- _No, no, no, no_.

The library is crowded, as is usual for the time. Late afternoon light filters through the windows; dust drifting slowly across sunbeams. From her vantage point on the second level, Sakura is able to get a decent view both of the main floor and of Hatake, who is now adding to a growing pile of books in his arms. The tower totters precariously and one hardcover edition smacks him in the teeth.

He recoils comically, and Sakura stifles a giggle. She’s never spoken to him directly – that would be crazy – but likes to imagine how that interaction might play out. She is drawn to the way he carries himself – insouciant, though oddly graceful. His personality, she deduces, is charming in a quiet, scholarly sort-of way, like a hot Remus Lupin. This conclusion is based solely on her voyeuristic observations of the past two weeks. Some nugget of guilt, embedded deep within her conscience, reminds her that this behavior is phenomenally creepy, but she brushes the thought away to focus instead on the line of Hatake’s jaw.

Yup. Totally un-creepy. Her eyes follow him as he checks out his books, noting how his tousled head of silver hair, juxtaposed against his young face, is simultaneously disconcerting and striking. Hatake smiles at the librarian, and Sakura feels a bit like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel. 

As Hatake walks out the door Sakura wonders if he'd ever find her attractive.

 

..

..

..

 

"He's a monster," groans Ino, pulling the strap of her handbag more securely on to her shoulder. "Doesn't Hatake realise that we're taking other classes? With other assignments? That we have  _lives?_  I don't even remember the last time I went out-"

"Two nights ago, you drama queen-"

"I swear, if he wasn't so damn good I'd drop that class in a heartbeat."

"You wouldn't," says Sakura wryly, "it's required. And you're lucky that you landed him. I didn't register early enough and got stuck with Gai." She feels defensive in the face of Ino’s criticism, convinced that her friend _just doesn’t understand_ Hatake’s unassuming charisma. Not that she’d ever admit this. 

Ino pauses and shoots her friend a pitying look. "You're right. I'm sorry.

"That's what I thought. But Gai isn't so bad, not really. I mean, at least not until someone sets him off."

"Tenten filled me in on what happened last week."

Sakura makes a show of shuddering visibly, making Ino laugh. “And that was just the second class of the semester,” she winces.

“Well, at least no one can accuse him of being boring.”

“True that. By the way, Naruto’s meeting me in the cafeteria because I’ve still got his headphones, like, 2 weeks after I ‘borrowed them for ten minutes’. Come with?”

Ino tut-tuts in mock-reproach. “Sure, Forehead.”

 

..

..

..

..

The cafeteria is bustling with activity. Sakura and Ino wind their way through the tables towards a distant shock of blonde hair. Naruto is deeply involved with his ramen lunch (Set Menu B) while his girlfriend, Hinata, watches, fascinated, as the food vanishes into his mouth. To be fair, Sakura thinks, on any given day Naruto is admittedly a bit of a spectacle.

“Hey guys,” she says, flopping onto a chair.

_“Mmfl!”_

“Hello,” smiles Hinata, putting down her spoon. “How was class?”

“Eh. It was Gai.”

Hinata appears sympathetic. “So, the usual?”

“I mean at least all we got was a lengthy anecdote and no-one had to demonstrate the prowess of the human body.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Sakura unzips her bag and pulls out Naruto’s bright orange headphones, placing them on the table in front of him. “Here you go, you animal,” she says fondly.

“’Fanks!” he replies, flashing a tight-lipped smile, cheeks bulging like a hamster.

“You eat so fast I don’t think you even taste what’s going down,” says Ino, making no attempt to hide her disgust.

 Naruto swallows. “It’s designed to be eaten quickly!”

“You’re supposed to _chew_ , you savage.”

“You get mad about the weirdest things.”

Ino rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the others. “What’s new?”

“Mm…well, Naruto and Professor Hatake got into a bit of a…a…disagreement again.”

“That old fart is so _annoying!_ ”

“Birds of a feather,” mutters Ino.

 “Why can’t he just be straight with us instead of being all cryptic and pretending he’s some sort of mysterious asswi-”

“Professor Hatake’s teaching style is certainly…unusual.”

“You can call him an asswipe too, Hinata,” says Ino, patting her hand. “Everyone thinks that.”

“Er,” says Sakura, “ungrateful much?”

“Fuck your pity party, Forehead. Can’t you see ours has a bigger crowd?”

_“Rude.”_

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.

 “He’s just lazy, is what he is!” grumbles Naruto. “Like I bet he doesn’t even prepare, and just acts like we’re idiots for not knowing what the hell he’s talking about. And he’s _always_ late. I mean, what’s the point of even showing up if you’re gonna-”

“Naruto-”

“And,” says Ino, “there was that one time he just. Straight-up forgot to show.”

“UGH!” Naruto exclaims loudly, causing several people nearby to jump. “It was the _first_ class! HE FORGOT TO SHOW UP TO THE FIRST CLASS OF THE SEMESTER.”

“Naruto,” says Hinata chidingly, placing a placating hand on his arm.

“Yeah, Gai…Hatake…they’re both nuts.”

“The semester’s sort of only just begun,” counters Sakura, irrationally finding herself personally offended by the anti-Hatake vitriol. “Maybe he’ll get his act together? I mean he doesn’t look like the sort who would be so irresponsible.”

“A Hatake-apologist, huh? Well, only time will tell.”

“If he continues to suck you could always complain to the dean?”

“Sure, Forehead.”

“Anyway,” says Sakura, still a little put-out, “I’ve done what I needed to. Also, I’m pooped.” She rises from her chair and hooks her backpack onto her shoulder. “Thanks for the headphones.”

“No problem.”

"C’mon, Ino, let's go home. I don't want to do anything tonight except eat fried food and watch trashy rom-coms."

Ino sighs loudly follows suit. "Ditto," she says

..

..

..

Not for the first time, Sakura wonders how things turned out this way. An hour ago she was prepped for some serious indolence when Ino kicked her out in anticipation of her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Shikamaru.

..

(The exchange goes a little like this:

_"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"_

_"There's no reason I shouldn't be getting laid just because you're feeling lazy. You're welcome to hang around but I can't guarantee that you'll be able to block much out."_

_"I'M PRETTY SURE THIS IS ILLEGAL!"_

_"Why the hell are you at home on a Wednesday afternoon anyway? But if you really want to stay I'm sure you wouldn't mind the sound of a little rough-housing...some sensual moaning...skin on skin on sofa-cushions-"_

_"I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOU GET IT ON!" Sakura bellows. "AND ON OUR SOFA?! THAT'S DISGUSTING!"_

_"I'll call you when we're done."_

_"I'M TELLING TENTEN!"_

_"Nice, okay. Whatever you'd like. Now put some pants on and I'll see you later.")_

..

It is two-thirty in the afternoon and Sakura is in no mood for social pleasantries. Consequently she is now sitting in a little coffee shop two blocks away and seething over a mug of chocolate. She is particularly annoyed that Ino had not stopped her from opening a bag of Cheetos before imparting the vital information (re. Shikamaru's booty-call). She tries to calculate their relative loss in crunchiness over time but finds that it only fuels her rage.

The coffee shop is not too bad, though; there are only two other customers besides herself. Sakura grudgingly appreciates the quiet before the inevitable late-afternoon rush. She is seated in a squat armchair by a picture window overlooking some flowerbeds and wishes bitterly that she'd brought her laptop along.

In lieu of this, she rummages grumpily through her backpack for a small paperback she'd snatched off the coffee table at home. On the one hand she is pleased because it is the first novel she has had time for since the semester began; on the other she is mortified because the book in her hands is not the sort of thing one reads in public, let alone in quaint coffee shops filled with pretentious pseudo-intellectuals. She looks around again to make sure that there is no one present who could possibly recognise her, and tentatively turns the page. Where she'd hoped to revel in mindless erotica Sakura only finds that she's growing steadily grumpier with the realisation that even the fictional characters therein are having more sex than she is.  _My life sucks_.

"Oh," says a voice above her, "Are you a fan of his work?"

"What?" she snaps irritably, then stops short.

It's Hatake. She's pretty sure her heart has seized because it doesn't seem to be beating anymore, and she feels the blood drain from her face. Something jarring and unpleasant pools in her stomach. _Oh God_ , she thinks. _Oh God, no._  She tries to speak but can only muster a couple of embarrassing gasps like she's asphyxiating.

"It-uh...I...um...it's my first."

Sakura wants to slam her head against the table. Because she's pretty sure she sounds perverted and not a little Lolita-esque.

"You're starting on the wrong one," he says, confoundingly unaffected by her discomfiture. "This is the third in the series."

"Oh," she says, with a glance at the cover. "I wondered why I was confused."

"Yes, you need to start on this one, see?" He reaches for the book in her hands and turns back pages until he's found the author's list of previous publications.

"Oh."

"Mind if I join you? It's nice to meet another fan."

"What? Uh, I mean, yes! Sure!"

Hatake slips in to the chair opposite and settles comfortably against the cushions. His hair, entirely silver-grey like a spiderweb, is windswept and could probably use a trim. He loosely crosses his legs, clad in charcoal slacks, and pushes the sleeves of his shirt (lightly crumpled, blue) above his elbows. Sakura wishes she'd put on some mascara. Maybe worn something different. Or something. She  _did_  remember her pants, right? She glances at her lap.  _Check_.

"What do you think of it so far?"

"It's okay, I guess, for smut."

 _This is a dream. This is a dream and I am going to wake up now_  (Sakura surreptitiously pinches herself. Hatake is still in front of her, ordering coffee from a waitress).

There is a strange gleam in his eye as he turns back; almost manic. Definitely not a look Sakura associates with Awkwardly-Gentle-But-Secretly-Tortured-Hot-Professors. _Uh oh._ Hatake clutches his knees and leans forward eagerly. "Just okay?" he exclaims, "it's the best damn smut you'll ever read in your life!"

"Er?"

Hatake launches into a lengthy discourse extolling the virtues of his favourite novels.  _Oh God,_  thinks Sakura,  _it was better when I couldn't hear him speak._  She finds herself zoning out and tries to nod and hum affirmatively every so often to stop him from catching on.  _Awesome. The only object of interest in my desolate love-life turns out to be a creepy Otaku_. Her disappointment is palpable. _Give me back my wasted youth and dreams of romance, you bastard,_ she mopes.

Hatake, apparently wrapping up his review, looks at Sakura intently to drive his point home. Or points. Whatever. She hasn't really been listening. She notices that his eyes are two different colours – one dark, and the other a warm brown. It is somewhat unnerving.

Hatake seems to realise that he has lost her attention. He sighs, then smiles ruefully. "I’m sorry. I get a little excited when it comes to this subject."

"Porn?"

_NOOOOWHATDIDYOUJUSTSAYYOUIDIOTSAKURAOHMYGODWHATISWRONGWITHYOU_

"Er," says Hatake, hesitating for a second, then recovering admirably, "yes. It is, after all, a subject very dear to a man's heart."

Sakura snorts.

 _Real classy_.

"I'm Kakashi, by the way."

The expression on her face is most likely embarrassingly delighted. Forgetting her disappointment, Sakura takes his proffered hand. _Who cares? Dignity’s overrated anyway._  

"Sakura," she says.

“Hello.”

"Kakashi." She tastes his name, rolling it on her tongue curiously. "Kakashi."

"Sakura," he smiles teasingly.

"I like it. It's unusual."

"Thanks."

He glances at his watch and rises to his feet. "Well, I won't trouble you any longer. I've got a class to teach that I'm.... ten minutes late for."

"Why rush?" Sakura deadpans, bolder now that any chance of classic romance seems to have been shot, strangled, and punted into another dimension. "It's not like your students are getting into debt for the rest of their lives."

"Never underestimate the value of a good power-play."

"I'll remember that," she responds, lips twitching despite themselves. 

Thank you for a lovely afternoon."

"Anytime."

"See you around!" he calls, and is out the door in an instant.

Sakura sighs and sinks into her chair, face in her hands. She can't stop smiling. She can't stop smiling and she doesn't mind. Hatake (Kakashi!) is nothing like she imagined. But he'd noticed her, and had actually _initiated_  a conversation! She almost doesn't care about those Cheetos anymore. Sakura spends the rest of the afternoon in a glowing haze and only realises he's skimped on the bill forty minutes later, when the waitress charges five extra dollars on her debit card.


	2. Chapter 2

Sakura squeezes onto the train just as the doors slide shut. She collapses loudly into a nearby seat, dropping her bag and slumping far enough that her coat rides up to hide her neck. (The freshman sitting opposite thinks she looks like a caricature of two dwarves – one on the shoulders of the other – and promptly posts a witty tweet that is later used by Bill Weiner as the basis for a screenplay that no one will read except his wife.)

Sakura likes trains. She likes the rhythmic sway of the carriages, the resonant echoes of the wheels against the track, and the gaudy fabric of the seats, reminiscent of multi-coloured, visual 'floaters'. She also likes the look of the man five seats over, clearly asleep and bent in half over a lurid orange book. It is her first time seeing Hatake (Kakashi!) like this – dressed in a smart ( _what!_ ) navy suit, hair brushed back from his temples (falling out of place), glasses sliding off his nose ( _Since when?!)_ his posture completely contrary to his appearance. The wary-looking woman sitting adjacent to him appears incredibly stressed, her body jerking to catch his every time the train shudders. After a few minutes Sakura decides to put her out of her misery (okay, fine, maybe she just wants an excuse to talk to him), and makes her way over.

"Um...excuse me?" Sakura puts a tentative hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle shake (she has no ulterior motives whatsoever. None at all). "Mr Hatake? Uh… Kakashi?"

Kakashi's eyes snap open as the book slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. His glasses slide off his nose and come to rest on his chin.

"Ah'm 'wake." He clears his throat. "I'm awake."

Sakura does her best not to dwell on how stupidly sexy his voice sounds – deep and gravelly from sleep (so what if she's a little turned on? It's not a big deal).

"Hi," she says. “Long night?”

Kakashi blinks blearily and turns his head, noticing her for the first time.

"Oh. It's you."

"It's me," she says, stupidly, awkwardly. Silence. "You were about to fall over." Somehow it's important that she explain the context of their meeting. Things are not off to a good start.

"Thanks."

The train pulls into the next station. The freshman gets off and trips on his shoelace. A mother pushes in a gurgling toddler strapped firmly to its pram. Kakashi stretches, picks up his book, dusts off the cover, and slips it into his leather satchel. He tucks his glasses into his pocket. An alarm beeps. The doors slide shut. The train begins to move.

"So," says Sakura, grasping for conversation, "what's with the get-up?"

Kakashi looks down at his suit. "What, don't you like it?"

"I never said that. The glasses age you."

"I was going for 'dignified professor'."

"They aren't…fake, are they?"

"You wound me,” he sniffs. “But yeah, they’re totally fake. 20/20 all the way.” Another pause. There’s a worried tilt to his brow. “Do they _really_ make me look old?” he asks a moment later. “I mean, geriatric?"

Sakura rolls her eyes but can’t help smiling ( _be still, my dumb heart_ ); the glasses are obviously prescription. "A _little_. But you could perhaps pass for the professorial type."

"With a wealth of wisdom and experience?"

"Maybe if you kept that book out of sight."

"Heresy. To thine own self be true."

"Some people could benefit from being a little less true to themselves, if y'know what I mean."

"I suppose it does detract from the overall image. I have a meeting with the University's Board of Trustees...hmm…ten minutes ago."

"Way to make an impression."

"I try."

Sakura giggles. Then, horrified at this, discreetly pinches the inside of her palm and pleads with her brain to pump the brakes because _JeezusChristobell am I a tween with a first-time crush??? Also,_ her inner-voice reminds her, _he totally scammed you, remember?! Get your shit together, girl!_ But Sakura is nothing if not the master of denial.

"So, do you usually take this train?” she asks, banishing the last vestiges of sensible thought to the furthest recesses of her mind. _Smooth, Sakura. Real smooth._

"You're pretty nosy,” says Kakashi, making a show of replacing and then peering sternly over his glasses. “You aren't stalking me or anything, are you?"

Sakura splutters defensively. Okay, so maybe she’s been keeping an eye out, but he doesn’t need to know that. " _You're_  being dreadfully arrogant," she counters.

"You mean my intoxicating charisma and self-assuredness? I'm told it's part of my appeal."

"And what does the Board of Trustees have to say about that?"

"Oh, they find me charming and roguish."

"Right," she grins, rolling her eyes. They settle into a comfortable lull. Sakura is painfully conscious of the fact that his knee keeps bumping into hers. She does not attempt to move.

"Where are you headed right now?" asks Kakashi after a long moment, tucking his glasses back into his pocket.

“ _Now_ who’s the stalker?”

“Roguish charm, remember?”

Sakura laughs. "Back home,” she replies. “I stayed over at a friend's last night."

"Are you getting off near the University?"

"Mm…thereabouts."

He pauses for a moment. "Coffee?"

Sakura’s heart flip-flops and she hopes to hell that he doesn’t notice the rising flush on her cheeks. _Steady, girl. Steady._

"I dunno,” she sings, and feigns looking at her nails so that she doesn’t have to make eye contact. “Last time, you skimped on the bill, remember?"

"What? No! I'm sure you offered to-"

"Pretty sure I didn't _, old man_."

"That is cruel and untrue. Tell you what – I'll pay for yours today. Even though you clearly-"

"-Even though I was clearly duped, yes.” She glances at him. “What about your meeting?"

"I'm already late. Ten minutes more won't matter. And I can't face them all without a good shot or two of espresso anyway."

"In that case, I'll also have a scone."

Kakashi grins and Sakura finds herself mesmerised by the dimple in his cheek.

..

..

..

 

"Alright," says Ino, walking into the sitting room with two different shoes on, "which one?"

"You know me. I'd recommend flip-flops. At least that way you'd be less likely to break your ankle."

"Why are you being even less helpful than usual?"

"Because this diagnostic worksheet will be the end of me."

"Hardly. I know how you nerds operate. You get off on academic rigor."

"Ew."

"I know. How do you live with yourself?"

"I manage," says Sakura wryly. "Go for the wedges."

"Why don't you come with me?"

"Nah. Too much to do."

"Suit yourself, grandma."

Tenten, their third and final roommate, emerges from the bathroom and casually throws herself onto the sofa. Her sweatpants, which are about three inches too long, boast high, damp rings that rise above her ankles.

"So Sakura," she begins, "What's this I hear about you scamming on old-man-Hatake?"

" _What?!"_

"Calm down, Ino, it's not true."

" _Isn't_  it?" murmurs Tenten provocatively. "A very reliable source insists he accused you of  _stalking_  him?"

"Oh my God, Sakura, that's disgusting."

"Shut up, Ino! He was joking!"

"But  _was_  he?"

" _YES!"_

"You don't even have class with him. How do you know him?"

Sakura takes a minute to consider how she could possibly explain her serendipitous meeting with Hatake without the use of the words: 'porn-hound', 'cheapskate', ‘total bastard, or ‘DILF’. She realises she can't. Not really.

"We met at a coffee shop," she amends. "It's no big deal. I barely know him. We exchanged two sentences, maybe." 

"I guess if you fundamentally change everything about his personality he's got that older-man-sort-of-appeal,” concedes Ino. “Wish he wasn't so weird, though."

"Yesterday," confides Sakura, "I saw him in a suit."

"No!"

"Momoa himself would have done a double-take."

"Now you're just exaggerating."

"Now you're just proving my point about being an infatuated stalker," says Tenten.

"Oh, hush," mutters Sakura, turning an interesting shade of magenta. "We are not above aesthetics."

"'Aesthetics' is one thing," says Ino gravely, kicking off a shoe, "but he's  _older_ , Sakura. It's kind of creepy. Guys like that usually have super weird motives."

"What's creepy is your obsession with toe-hair."

"Toe hair is satisfying to tweeze, okay!?"

"This isn't going to turn into a repeat of the thing with Sasuke, is it?" cringes Tenten. "I can't watch that again. It was painful, and I can't afford any more therapy."

"No! This is like your crush on Mr. Iruka in high school."

"Now that man had  _depth_."

"Urgh," moans Sakura, dragging her palm along her face. "Anyway, my point is that there is nothing even  _remotely_  creepy about my relationship with Hatake."

..

..

..

 

"Sakura, I need you to put this mask on and help me mug Gai in the alley behind the gym."

It is early afternoon, just over halfway through the semester. Sakura and Kakashi are standing in a musty corner of the library, conversing in strained whispers. Sakura is looking for a book on enzymes; he has a couple of periodicals in his arms. She looks from the mask to Kakashi with a deadpan expression.

"I take his class, you know."

"Yeah, but this is a balaclava." He gives it a shake for emphasis.

"I happen to have very distinctive features. The pink hair, for example."

"It'll be fun."

"No."

"Sakura-"

"No. Whatever pissing contest you've got going on this time-"

"It's literally a pissing contest. The first to make the other piss his pants wins."

"No. Don't you have any other friends? Aren't you two _grown men?!_ "

"Irrelevant," says Kakashi with a dismissive wave of his hand. "So you'll help?"

_"No."_

"But it's perfect. He'd never suspect one of his students. You'll be perfectly safe."

"No."

Kakashi slumps against a shelf and it totters precariously. "Back to the drawing board, I suppose." He pushes off (some books fall out and someone on the other side of the aisle gasps) with a morose, two-fingered salute.

"See you around, stick-in-the-mud."

"I'm not a stick-in-the-mud!" bristles Sakura, but she can't help smiling.

Kakashi waves as he turns the corner and Sakura wonders if she might be a little bit special.

..

..

..

 

The year slips deeper into autumn, bringing with it a blustery chill. The university is tense as students and faculty prepare for exams, only a couple of weeks away. Ino, standing in line for a seasonal spiced latte at the coffee shop near their apartment, notices her friend camping out by the window. Sakura has strewn her belongings across the little table and the adjacent armchair, paying little mind to anyone else.

Ino notices that Sakura has taken to spending a significant amount of time studying here as of late. Partially, she suspects, because she enjoys their hot chocolate; mostly because it is where she is likely to run into Hatake. Ino doesn’t know how she feels about that. She has been considering an intervention of sorts, though she knows she’s been neglectful - what with all their assignments, and Shikamaru, and graduation coming up next year. And god knows what kind of trouble Sakura gets into when she’s lonely.

Before she can call out, the bell above the door jangles and a familiar, silver-haired figure makes their way towards her instead. With no small amount of horror, Ino notices that Sakura is _glowing_.

“Oh forehead,” she murmurs pityingly. “What are you _doing?_ ”

After paying for her coffee, Ino makes an executive decision to lurk. Slipping into a seat at the opposite end of the room (and ignoring the confused man across from her), she watches their interaction play out.

Ino and Sakura have been friends since elementary school. They have weathered various conflicts, heartbreaks and crises with the enduring resilience of childhood; survived the rise and fall of various boybands, the death of Ino’s father, and the separation of Sakura’s parents. It is too hard to watch Sakura make poor choices after all this; she is too smart, too ambitious, and too kind to wind up a classic caricature who meets a tragic end. Ino recalls the last boy who broke her best friend’s heart and aches to think of the ways in which this cycle is repeating itself. She cracks her knuckles. _Yeah, it’s intervention time, baby_.

Hatake doesn’t stay long; they laugh and flirt for about 10 minutes before Sakura waves him away with a simpering look in her eye. This is the perfect opportunity to strike. With the swift efficiency of a ninja, Ino darts between the tables to loom imposingly over her target.

“Forehead.”

Sakura jumps. “God, Ino. You scared me.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Ino moves the clutter away and settles into the other armchair. Her gaze is perfectly calculated to be piercing. Some have called Ino ‘manipulative’; her keen sense and shrewd judgment often giving the impression that she might be capable of reading minds. This is not a confrontation Sakura was anticipating, but they’ve been friends long enough that she _knows_ what’s about to go down. She struggles to maintain eye contact.

“How’s it going, Pig?” she asks casually, apparently preoccupied with the contents of her empty mug.

Ino assumes an air of feigned nonchalance. Shallow enough for her friend to tell. “Saw you with Hatake a moment ago,” she says.

“Yeah, we run into each other occasionally.”

“So you’re good friends now, huh?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say we were good _friends_ , but definitely… like, good _acquaintances_ at least.”

“Oh,” murmurs Ino, dangerously calm, “that’s nice. That’s so nice.”

“It’s no biggie,” Sakura shrugs, fixing her gaze on an indeterminate location beyond the window.

A tense silence follows.

“Forehead,” says Ino finally, “look at me.” She places her hand over Sakura’s in a rare act of tenderness.

Sakura complies. Painfully.

“Whatever this is… can you promise me that you will be careful?”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Listen. I’m not a dumbass and you’re not subtle, so let’s cut the bullshit. I’m worried about you. I don’t want to see a repeat of Sasuke. I just need to know you’re making good choices for yourself.”

Sakura takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got it under control.”

Ino squeezes back. “Okay. Love you, you dumb bitch.”

“Love you too, asshole.”

..

..

..

 

Exam season passes in a blur, and the week leading up to winter break assumes an attitude of festive relief. Sakura pauses halfway up the stairwell to the faculty offices to reassess (for the 100th time) whether this is a good idea. Perhaps it’s the end of semester chaos; perhaps it’s the upcoming holidays; but her run-ins with Kakashi seemed to have tapered off. Their last encounter was close to three weeks ago at the café but he hadn’t lingered; just waved and dashed off, much to Sakura’s disappointment. She hadn’t thought it odd since everyone was busy at the time.

“I’m just going to to wish him happy holidays,” she mutters, attempting to convince herself that her motivations are pure. “That’s not weird, is it? I mean we’re definitely friends… sort of.”

Locating his office is easy – it is one he shares with her own professor, Gai Maito. The walls are decked with motivational posters and medals; books and piles of papers, waiting to be graded, clutter every available surface. The room is otherwise empty.

“Drat,” says Sakura, deflating. She turns around and quite nearly jumps out of her skin because Professor Gai is standing right behind her. “OH MY GOD!” she yells, stumbling backwards. “Professor, I’m so sorry!”

Gai, who looks like a good-natured GI-Joe action figure with a bowl-cut, laughs his booming laugh. His teeth are perfectly straight and white. There is some debate among the student body as to whether they are real.

“No worries, Miss Haruno!” He makes his way into the room and places another stack of papers on the desk. “How can I help you? I already gave you your grades, didn’t I?”

“Oh? Yeah, thank you. It was good.”

“Excellent work, as usual! You’ll be out saving the world in no time!”

Sakura has the grace to blush. “Er, thank you.”

“So if it’s not your grades, Miss Haruno, then what can I do for you?”

“Er,” she says eloquently, “I was… actually looking for Professor Hatake.”

At this, Gai pauses. He frowns, his usually smiling mouth downturned and somber.

“I’m sorry, Miss Haruno, but he… is no longer here.”

“What!? Is he okay?!”

Gai turns his back to her, arranging stacks of paper. “Yes, it’s unfortunate. Personal reasons, you know.” When he faces her again, his expression indicates that the matter will not be discussed further. “Is it something I can help you with instead?”

‘Confused’ is too inadequate a word. Sakura is bewildered. Flummoxed. And… not a little heartbroken. “Um. No, that’s fine. I was just… here to… er… ask him about something else.”

She is not prepared for Gai’s piercing eyes as she meets his gaze; honestly he could give Ino a run for her money. Sakura feels a rush of embarrassment and gets the sense that he _knows_.

 _Kill me now_.

“Yes, it’s unfortunate,” he says slowly, “but perhaps it’s for the best, hmm?”

“Uhh… yeah. Hope things improve… for… him.”

The conversation tapers into silence.

“Okay. Thanks so much professor,” she says finally. “See you next semester, probably.”

“Goodbye, Miss Haruno. Happy holidays.”

..

..

..

 

Ino is sitting in near-darkness, halfway through an episode of Golden Girls, when Sakura returns home. Sakura kicks off her shoes, shuffles glumly over to the sofa, motions for Ino to scoot over, and then collapses, face-first, over the arm. She sighs deeply.

“Rough day, huh, Forehead?”

A long moment passes. Sakura finally turns her face; the light from the TV flickering and casting hard shadows across her features.

“You were right.”

Ino looks down at her, concerned. “I always am. But what am I right about this time?”

Sakura doesn’t offer a response. Instead, she buries her face in the sofa cushion again.

“…It’s Hatake, isn’t it?”

Sakura nods.

Shifting enough for her friend to lay her head in her lap, Ino places a grounding hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.” A beat, then: “Is it over?”

“Honestly… it wasn’t even a _thing_. Not really.”

Bea Arthur delivers a zinger. The laugh track fills the room.

“Next time will be better, Forehead.”

“Yeah. Hope so.”

Another pause.

“Wanna get wasted?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Two and a half bottles of wine later, Sakura finds herself drowsily pressed against Ino’s (lightly snoring) side and takes a grateful moment to acknowledge that maybe this is all she’s ever really needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even is happening in this fic. Thanks for your feedback everyone!!! Big, big love.


	3. Chapter 3

Sakura is six months into her first year of residency at Konoha Medical, the second-largest hospital in the city. Every day she feels, more and more, that she is becoming impossibly tired and crotchety - the sort of personality her mother might generously describe as: ‘beyond her years’. She’s one shift away from yelling at children to get off her lawn; one shift away from writing scathing letters to the editors of newspapers that no longer exist. Honestly most days it feels like she’s aged 10 years since the year began.

The sky is as grey as a goose and the temperature unseasonably chilly. Sakura has begun to suspect that this is some thinly-veiled metaphor for life – the sort one might find in a Reader’s Digest from the 90s, the only ones that seem to find their way into hospital lounges. She’s never been the poetic type, of course, preferring the concrete logic that math and medicine provide; still she fancies she _could_ be - if, y’know, she were so inclined. Standing beneath the awning above the sleek glass hospital doors, Sakura holds out a cautious, upturned hand to catch evidence of a drizzle. Finding none, she hoists her bag more securely onto her shoulder and steps out onto the pavement. 

The station is a block away and dips underground; the turnstiles lined up like teeth in a dark, yawping, mouth. Sakura always imagines jumping them but predictably chickens out at the last minute – not for reasons of guilt or morality; instead she is paranoid that she will trip, fall, and ultimately wind up a viral internet sensation. At seven forty-five she lines up with the other commuters, cursing the crowd. During her first month on the job she used to worry she would fall asleep standing up, perhaps lean obnoxiously against a fellow passenger, perhaps drool on their shoulder – but she no longer cares. The world is bitter suffering and she’s not ashamed to admit that inflicting both pain and inconvenience on strangers has become a twisted form of self-care. _I used up my quota of goodwill when I stuck a suppository up that hairy guy’s ass,_ she thinks spitefully, trying not to dwell on the fact that it wasn’t even the last suppository of the day.

The train arrives and she slithers wearily between a woman in a pantsuit and a man in a bright poncho over navy slacks. Because she cannot muster enough energy to raise her head she notices that the man is wearing kitten heels. _Cute,_ she thinks, then imagines her funeral in which she is buried, frail and grey, in scrubs, because it’s all she seems to be wearing these days. _I could write a shoe clause into my will,_ she muses, _maybe??? So that…cute shoes..? Or whatever? What even are words? What even is…brain? Is…think?_ “Urrrghhhhh.” Her groan prompts the man in heels to shuffle further away.

There are two new text messages on her phone – the first from Ino, asking her to pick up some toilet paper, and the second is a meme from Naruto featuring a dabbing Squidward (she doesn’t get it). Resting the back of her head against the window, Sakura allows her eyes to close, lulled by the steady-rocking carriage. She falls asleep.

..

..

..

A bell chimes. Sakura wakes to the sound of a tinny announcement confirming that she has missed her stop by approximately forty minutes. A bleary-eyed glance at her phone tells her it is nearly nine AM. _Shit. Shit-goddamn. What-the-shit-fucking-heck_. She peels herself off the seat and steps out onto the platform, trying to gauge her bearings. There is a graffitied subway map on the adjacent wall featuring an impressive likeness of Sonic the Hedgehog. And also dicks. Lots of dicks. _A troubled neighbourhood_ , she thinks, _full of crime_. The archetype of a frat-boy is lying across a bench, very obviously hungover. _These white boys must be stopped,_ she muses half-heartedly, then strongly considers joining him for a quick cuddle and a long nap. Instead, she spots a deli across the street and potters off the platform in search of a snack.

The deli is one of those ‘mom-and-pop’ joints and is run by a very angry old man; the sort whose face is all eyebrows. He glares at Sakura when she takes more than thirty seconds to order a sandwich, and this escalates to a full-blown intervention after he disagrees with her choice of meat. “No!” he snaps, reaching instead for some thinly-sliced roast beef, “ _this_ is what you want. Don’t touch that other stuff. It’s crap!”

“But…you’re…selling it…?”  

“You wanna eat crap?! Huh??? Be my guest!!!”

“No, no, I trust you,” she says, defeated, holding up a placating hand. Her gaze drifts beyond the window, polished to a perfect sparkle save the smear of a lone handprint. The grey has begun to dissipate somewhat; sunshine curling around the lip of a passing cloud tints it silver and offers a satisfying contrast against the dark-leaved trees. She watches the people go by: a lady with a glorious afro in a red dress; a father with two young daughters, obviously very late for school; an older woman, walking her dog; Hatake Kakashi; A couple, sporting dyed hair and piercings. _Wait, what?_ Sakura does a double take.

She is not dreaming. Yes, that is Hatake Kakashi. She presses her face against the glass to follow the sight of his back, slouching down the block.

“HEY! I just cleaned that!!” shouts the angry deli-man, brandishing a loaf of bread.

Sakura doesn’t hesitate. “Sorry, I’ll be right back!” she calls, and chases after him, all fatigue forgotten.

“Hatake!!” she yells, “ _Hatake!!”_ Barreling past the couple with the piercings (eliciting an indignant “what the fuck!?”), Sakura launches herself bodily off the ground to grab his shoulder. _“KAKASHI!”_

He turns, frowning; defensive; then recognition dawns on his face and he breaks into a wide smile. “What the hell, how’re you?!” he asks happily.

Sakura, wheezing for breath, has not released her iron grip on his shoulder. “You…idiot…you…absolute…garbage person….”

“There’s that trademark Haruno charm.”

“Just…stay…just… _phew._ ” Sakura lifts her eyes to meet his. Instead of relief, instead of joy, she finds that she wants to punch him right in the face. “Where have you _been?!_ ” she demands.

“Oh, here and there. Travelled a bit.”

“You vanished. You literally just vanished.”

“Something came up.”

“It’s been _years_ and I thought-”

“Sorry about that,” he says, looking apologetic. He closes a hand over hers and gently removes it from his shoulder.

The train that Sakura had been waiting for leaves the station with a noisy rattle. She feels like she has left the real world and stepped into a dream.  “I have a sandwich waiting for me,” she says, pointing behind her. “Are you busy right now?”

“I was heading to work.”

“Work?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I’m worried that you’ll vanish again.” She shrugs. “Can’t really blame me. And what’s ‘work’ anyway?”

“In a neighbourhood like this? What can you expect?”

“I dunno. What _can_ I?”

A beat. “I’ve been prostituting myself.”

“At nine in the morning?”

“I keep regular office hours.”

_“Kakashi.”_

“Sakura.”

Another pause. Sakura begins to feel that familiar prickle of hurt and humiliation and _rejection_ that plagued her all through middle school. So Kakashi’s setting some boundaries. So what. It’s not like they were actually friends or anything. At least that’s what it’s starting to look like. She steps back.

“Right,” she says, looking anywhere but his eyes, “I’ll let you get to it, then. Those old men aren’t going to blow themselves.”

“You’d be surprised. Some of them’re pretty flexible.”

Sakura’s eyes snap back to his and she hates herself for it. His expression is soft and apologetic. His mouth is pulled into a lopsided smile and his stupid dimple is as deep as a well in the desert. This makes her angry.

“Right, I’m sure I would be.” She turns, tucking a clenched fist in front of her body, away from his line of sight. “See you around,” she snaps, with little to no sincerity, and leaves before he can respond. Rather – he doesn’t even try – and this hurts her a lot more than she expected. It surprises her more than the knowledge that old men can be flexible enough to fellate themselves.

She stomps back into the deli looking so thunderous that even the old man doesn’t comment, and stuffs a large tip into the jar on the counter out of spite. _So Kaka-HATAKE doesn’t think I’m important_ , she fumes. _So what? I don’t care. No big deal. And so what if this old man is a horrible jackass. I’m a good person!! It’s his loss. Look at me. Look at this tip. HAH! Screw you, HATAKE. I’m too good and pure for this world, and that’s the truth_. Sakura stalks purposefully from the deli and takes a vicious bite of her sandwich. A piece of lettuce falls onto her hand and she flicks it away vengefully. She storms the train platform and occupies the bench the frat boy once did. Little by little her anger subsides to sadness, and her (poor, abused) sandwich is allowed a brief respite.

Being this hurt is stupid, she knows. Kakashi was never a close friend; he just a sort of fun acquaintance with a penchant for drama - a ‘Peter Pan’; the type of prankster who’d lose his own shadow. And yeah, so she used to have an unrequited crush on him that never received closure. Maybe she’s still caught up in some lingering feelings. She wonders if things would have been different if she _had_ helped him mug Professor Gai in that alleyway back then. Sakura turns her anger inwards, blaming herself for not being aware of whatever social cues would have spared her this humiliation.

In some ways it’s a repeat of her life at the hospital – the senior doctors find her inexperience tedious at best, and personally offensive at worst. Lately she’s felt like she’s being treated like a bad smell, waved away from room to room like a minor nuisance that isn’t even worthy of a second look. Sakura can feel an egg-sized lump in her throat that threatens to hatch into tears. She scuffs the toe of her shoe against the ground, giving into brooding with a downturned mouth and a heavy heart. She is not sure when the next train is due but is starting to suspect that time has turned into to treacle.

“Sakura! Sakura!!” 

It’s Kakashi, leaning over the turnstile, waving his arms. Sakura looks up, smiles falsely and waves back.

“Sakura, I’m sorry,” he calls. “I was being an ass. It wasn’t cool.”

Sakura feels herself thawing. “Yeah you were,” she replies finally.

“Come back. We should probably chat.”

“Probably. What about work?”

“I’m self-employed. C’mon, don’t make this weird.”

Sakura stands, indignant. “Oh, so _I’m_ making this weird?!”

“Yes!!”

She’s half convinced she should ignore him just for the principle of the thing. Is she really that pathetic that she would so be easily swayed?

“We can get some coffee on the way,” calls Kakashi.

“On the way? Where to?”

“My place!”

Fifteen seconds later Sakura is following him out of the station, just a step behind.

..

..

..

“So, is this the inner seraglio?”

“You bet. Watch out for that mug. I’ve kicked it over twice.”

“And you didn’t pick it up _then?_ ”

“I’m a busy man, Sakura.”

“Right.”

Kakashi potters over to the kitchen, opening up and peering into the cupboards. “Want some tea? I’ve got some matcha – the shitty stuff, mind you – and some oolong – also shitty – some nice black Ceylon tea, and something called… _Lavender Dreams._ ”

“Black tea would be great.”

“Okie dokie. Milk and sugar?”

“Yes please.”

Sakura takes this opportunity to take in Kakashi’s apartment like a hungry P.I. It is neither meticulously clean nor abysmally untidy; rather it is bizarrely _normal_. She listens to him humming absently amidst the clatter of china and pokes around suspiciously; surreptitiously. Hatake Kakashi is not a _normal_ person, but looking around – she can’t seem to find the evidence. There is a sleek, green sofa – faded from use – with complementary cushions, a couple of bookshelves, and some photographs on the mantelpiece. At the foot of the sofa, sitting on some ethnic-looking woven rug, is a rustic coffee table with a large and discernable burn. Sakura picks the mug off the floor – concealing a curious layer of ancient, congealed coffee – and places it out of harm’s way before meandering over to the photographs. There is a group shot featuring a pubescent Kakashi alongside a gang of other youths in camo – one of whom is wearing large orange goggles; another of what is presumably his parents (he is the spitting image of his father, she notes, a little stunned); a couple more people in fancy military uniforms, and finally….

Sakura picks up the photograph very gently and runs her forefinger across the glass. In it, a younger Kakashi is partly hiding his face behind a familiar orange book, one arm slung intimately around the shoulders of a laughing, pretty woman. The placement of her hand, crossing her chest and resting on his forearm, is frighteningly tender. They are both wearing wedding bands. Something uncomfortable jolts within Sakura, and she begins to feel like a voyeur - like she’s seen too much of something she was not meant to. She hurriedly puts the frame back and moves to the furthest possible end of the room. Without looking she grabs a book off the shelf, flops heavily onto the sofa, and tries to distract herself. Except -

“What the hell kind of book is this, Kakashi!?” She turns the book over in her hands and reads the summary aloud. _“When Sue Havisham finds herself kidnapped by the wickedly handsome pirate captain Berk, she is forced choose – to become a mutineer of love, or to walk the plank, straight into desire.”_ Sakura smacks the book down with a loud exclamation of disgust. “It’s called Virgin Voyage, Kakashi. _Virgin Voyage!_ What the hell!?”

Kakashi emerges from the kitchen with a broad tray, balancing an entire floral tea set. “Oh, that one? Spoiler alert – it gets boring after they hook up in chapter six.” He sets the tray down on the coffee table and sits next to Sakura, and begins setting out the cups.

“This is…unexpected.”

“Wedding present,” he explains, spooning the sugar. “ _When are we ever going to use this,_ we asked ourselves, and laughed. And then we began to use it ironically. And then we forgot that it was ironic. So now it’s just a tea set that gets regular use.”

Sakura feels the discomfiting jolt again. “Your wife. The one in the picture?”

“Mm,” hums Kakashi, suddenly quiet, pointedly continuing his task without pause.

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. Oh shit, I’m sorry-”

“They’re all dead. Everyone up there.”

“Sorry,” says Sakura softly, breaking the awkward silence.

Kakashi shrugs and sighs matter-of-factly. “It’s okay,” he says, handing her cup. “It’s just a thing.”

Sakura takes a sip of tea. It is refreshingly hot and perfectly sweet. “It’s good,” she confesses.

“I’ve got a good contact,” he says. “This old guy I play chess against sometimes.”

“Ah. One of your self-fellating clients?”

“Nah, he’s an octogenarian from Sri Lanka – a Malay; cute as a button. Has probably three whole teeth in his entire head.”

“Heck.”

“Yeah. Kicks my ass up and down a chessboard, I’ll tell you that.”

“This I’d like to see.”

“Smiles the whole time he’s doing it, too. Positively merciless. Love him to bits.”

Kakashi leans back against the sofa cushions, cradling a saucer in one hand and holding a cup in the other.

“So,” says Sakura finally, “want to tell me what’s been going on?”

“Not really. But I guess I do owe you an explanation.”

“An explanation would be nice.”

“Yeah. Honestly I feel pretty guilty – I’m not sure if you realized but I was kind of flirting with you back then. Leading you on a little.”

The bottom of Sakura’s stomach drops. “I guess you kind of were,” she says casually.

“Sorry about that.”

His apology feels like a straight punch to the gut. _Ugh_. “So what happened?”

“The short version?” - Kakashi sets the cup down and begins counting items off on his fingers – “…wife died, had a nervous breakdown, went back to work – that’s when I met you - had another nervous breakdown, went away,  made reckless and impulsive decisions, nearly died, got scared, came back, took up a bunch of hobbies, killed a bunch of plants during my gardening phase, got back in touch with the university, started working remotely, and then,” he concludes, “I ran into you again.”

“…Wow. That’s a lot.” In spite of her nervousness, Sakura places what she hopes is a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Sorry things suck so much.”

“Meh, it’s a living.”

“I guess. Technically.” Sakura releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She leans back so that their eyes are at level with each other. “So. What’s next?”

“Well,” Kakashi looks away for a few contemplative seconds, then back, “I’d be okay to just sit here a while.”

The poignancy of the moment catches Sakura off guard. He has never seemed so tired; so honest; so trusting – the look of a man who has fallen ass-backwards into hell and is waiting for a friend to throw down a lifeline. The dull ache in her chest dissipates somewhat, and its departure clears her head. She notices that the sunlight, soft and diffused, has cast her reflection in his eyes. Sakura does not consider herself a poet, but thinks that she has begun to understand how she could. She takes another sip of tea, then smiles. “I’m down with that,” she says.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who took the time to leave some feedback! Big love.


	4. Chapter 4

“He’s the one.”

“…”

Sakura has never seen such an ugly dog in her life. She is mesmerized and thrown off by the optical illusion of its muzzle, which manages to look like the mottled stubble of a man at the end of a week-long bender. If this dog were a person he’d be chain-smoking cigarette butts off an alley floor. Clearly some kind of pug-mix. Or maybe it ran into a wall? She glances at the tag on the kennel.

“His name is… _Pakkun_ ,” she says. It’s disconcertingly cutesy and completely at odds with its owner.

Kakashi, squatting on his haunches with his arms full of dog, turns back to Sakura. His expression is set. “It’s him.”

It’s unnerving that they both have the same expression.

“How can you tell?” she asks.

Kakashi and the dog lock eyes. “We just know.”

“We?”

He stands, tucking the animal under his arm. The pale spring light casts a soft halo on his hair. “Alright buddy," he says, "let’s go home.”

They make their way to the front desk. Sakura worries that it is not protocol to bring the animal out with them, but no one comments. In fact, the woman running the shelter is in tears.

“He’s been in and out of here for so long. _Years,_ Mr. Hatake. We’re so happy he’s found his forever home!”

Kakashi is still holding Pakkun under his arm while he signs the paperwork. “I believe we’ll be very happy together.”

“Here’s a copy of his paperwork – all the shots and things…”

“Thanks.”

“He had at least three previous owners,” says the woman, reaching over to scratch Pakkun behind the ear. “He’s really been around the block.”

“Yeah?”

“He was first adopted by a family which moved away and couldn’t take him with them.  After that he was passed on to a very abusive owner – it was terrible. The neighbours called Animal Services and he was rescued, thank God. Finally he was adopted by an elderly woman and lived quite happily until she passed away two years ago.”

Sakura clutches her mouth. She begins to understand why Kakashi chose him. Why they chose each other.

The woman smiles sadly. “He’s such a good boy,” she says. “We’ll miss him.”

“Thanks for taking care of him all this time.” Kakashi looks down at the dog with an unreadable expression on his face. Sakura’s stomach flip-flops.

The woman laughs, wiping her eyes. “We never want to see him again, y’hear?”

Kakashi drops a kiss on Pakkun’s head. “No danger of that,” he says.

...

...

...

Pakkun becomes a regular and beloved fixture in the neighbourhood. It becomes widely accepted that wherever Kakashi goes, Pakkun goes as well. Even the owner of the deli up the street – famed for being extraordinarily grouchy – makes no attempt to disguise the fact that Pakkun is his new favourite customer. Kakashi reveals, with not a little amazement, that the man goes so far as to step away from the counter and pick the dog up for a cuddle, feeding him scraps of ham.

“I’ve never met such a spoiled beast in all my life,” says Sakura, shaking her head.

“Yeah I’ve got to watch out; Abu the deli-guy is my rival in love. Can’t have Pakkun thinking he can do better.”

“Prrft.”

The three of them had convened at a trendy restaurant for brunch on a rare morning off. Pakkun was dozing under the table while Sakura and Kakashi shared a small carafe of coffee. They were sitting outside, shielded by a trellis of flowering vines. It was pleasantly breezy while also being sunny – a picture-book-sort-of day.

“Oh,” says Sakura suddenly. “I found a book that you’d like.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hang on, I took a picture of the cover.”

Sakura scrolls through her phone, then turns it to Kakashi, who leans forward to peer at the screen.

“Is that…a _horse?_ ”

“The furries have really broken into the erotic lit scene.”

“Furries?”

“Anyway, the plot is basically that this beautiful and spunky princess ‘who don’t need no man’ runs away from an arranged marriage and meets this cursed-”

“Hold up, hold up. What’s a ‘furry’?”

“Well, I’d tell you to google it…but that’d probably confuse you more.”

“Okay, so…?”

“…Google it.”

“…”

“…”

“Huh,” says Kakashi finally. “You’re right. I am more confused. So is it or is it not a sex thing?”

“From my understanding, it’s not always a sex thing.”

“But in this book,” he points at the picture on Sakura’s phone, “it is?”

“Yeah.”

“And you saw this. And thought of me.”

“Yup.”

“The closest I’ve gotten to sleeping with a horse was when I was hooked up with a guy in the army.”

Sakura rolls her eyes. “’Cause he was hung-”

“-like a horse.”

They snicker. Pakkun stirs and stretches under the table.

“Good to know that sexy horses remind you of me, Sakura.”

“What can I say? I’m just mesmerized by your weirdly shaped neck.”

“Wow. Okay, rude.”

“The giant teeth, also.”

“I don’t feel like giving you your present anymore.”

Sakura sits up. “You got me something?” she asks, pleasantly surprised.

“Hmm,” intones Kakashi, leaning back in his chair and turning away pointedly.

“Aww, I’m sorry,” says Sakura. “You encompass only the most beautiful horselike characteristics. The majesty and the raw power. The flowing hair.”

“Hmm.” Kakashi turns back, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“Can I have the thing now?”

He breaks, laughing, and reaches into the leather satchel hanging off his chair, pulling out a clear plastic container. “It’s that baklava you liked so much,” he says, handing it over.

“Ooh, from the place by the theatre!”

“Yeah. I passed by while visiting a friend and figured you’d appreciate it.”

“Oh boy, do I,” says Sakura, popping off the lid. “Shall we have some now?”

“I’ll have a bite.”

In truth, the treat is nothing to write home about. The only difference from any other she might have had in is that both times, she’d shared it with Kakashi. But she tries not to think about that.

...

...

...

“You’ve done it again, you old bastard,” sighs Kakashi, tipping his king over onto the chessboard.

The infamous 3-toothed kingslayer (and premium tea supplier), grins smugly. He extends his open palm and indicates with an easy gesture that he’s ready to collect his winnings.

“All right, all right, keep your pants on.”

Sakura, who had spent the majority of the game snoozing on a picnic blanket with Pakkun, lifts a lazy arm in salute. “Great work as usual, sir!”

It is early autumn and the leaves are only just assuming their rosy blush. A cool breeze moves across the park and it is pleasant against the warmth of the sunlight. Sakura finds it hard to believe that the end of the year is approaching so quickly; that she only reconnected with Kakashi a few months ago. She never could have imagined this – this comfortable togetherness, and Pakkun, and overall sense of contentment. She had discussed the shift in her friendship with Kakashi briefly with Ino – who was still understandably wary – but beyond that had been trying her level best not to overthink things and _jinx_ them. Talking to Kakashi about it was out of the question; perhaps sometimes it was enough to enjoy the moment - or that’s what she was trying to convince herself, anyway.

“Let’s get out of here before I lose even more money,” calls Kakashi, rising to his feet. He turns to the man. “Same time next week?”

The man nods, then holds up the money and makes a show of fanning himself with it.

“What a gracious opponent. Modest as ever.” Shaking his head in mock disappointment, Kakashi holds up his hand for a high-five, which is reciprocated with gusto. He turns to Sakura. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

His apartment is only 10 minutes away from the park. Kakashi goes ahead as Sakura pauses to kick her shoes off in the foyer, Pakkun hot on his heels.

“You hungry, boy?” he asks, pausing in the kitchen doorway. “Is that it? Hmm, my best and most noble friend? You sentient sausage?”

Pakkun looks back up at him beseechingly.

“Guess I have a soft spot for senior citizens. Come on, you lump.”

“Shall I put the kettle on?” asks Sakura, just a step behind.

“Yeah that would be great, thanks.”

Without pause, she reaches up to grab their usual mugs from the cabinet – hers, an earthen hand-glazed affair, and Kakashi’s a novelty heat-sensitive one featuring a busty woman in a bikini (including the caption _: The Girls Here Are SUNAice_ ). They take their tea in the living room, curled on opposite ends of the sofa. The tea is refreshingly hot and perfectly sweet. Kakashi settles in to read another romance novel. Sakura’s eyes grow heavy, and her last thought before sleep claims her is that the scene feels thrillingly domestic.

...

The room is dark when she wakes. Thick with sleep, Sakura lifts her head with some reluctance and notices Kakashi’s silhouette in the gloom. Her legs, stretched out a little farther now, have encroached into his space; her toes brush his thigh. She stares for a long moment, trying to gauge whether he is dozing.

“What.” His voice, startling in the stillness, is soft, deep and raspy from disuse. It is more of a statement than a question.

“I was trying to figure out if you were awake.” She does not speak above a hush.

“I’m awake.”

He places his hand on her foot. It is warm, so warm, and the contact makes her head spin. She wishes he would keep touching her; skim the surface of her leg; stroke his thumb against her skin – anything to break the platonic barrier between them – but he does not do so. The weight of his hand is a torment. Not daring to move, she breathes, a little shakily, as steady as possible. Her mouth is dry. She swallows, then licks her lips – a sense of anticipation coiling in her chest. They sit like this for a while in the darkness, and Sakura finds herself half-praying: _I want you to touch me. Please touch me_.

With a gentle pat, Kakashi rises, crossing the room to turn on a lamp. Light floods the space and Sakura blinks owlishly. Whatever tension existed between them is severed; a disappointing anticlimax. He turns, stifling a yawn.

“So,” he says, “dinner?”

...

...

...

The appetizing scent of microwave popcorn greets Sakura as she returns from work. She finds Ino in the kitchen and Shikamaru sprawled across the couch reading a kindle.

“Hey.”

“Whaddup?”

Sakura hangs up her coat and tosses her bag onto the hallway table.  “Kakashi said he’d swing by for movie night.”

“Your relationship with him continues to be the weirdest thing in my life,” remarks Ino dryly, making her way to the living room.

“I like hanging out with him. And Pakkun. The weird makes it fun.”

“I dunno. It was kinda uncomfortable at first because he was literally the person I hated most in the world at one point. And that is not a title easily won.”

“But he _did_ bring us those fruity mixers last time,” interjects Shikamaru.

Sakura snorts. “I think he genuinely enjoys them.”

“Scooch,” says Ino, forcing Shikamaru to one end of the couch. She grabs a handful of popcorn with one hand and offers Sakura the bowl with the other. “You getting in on this?”

“Let me throw on a T-shirt.”

After a quick shower and change of clothing, Sakura rejoins the group to find Kakashi has just arrived, Pakkun in tow. Ino, who answered the door, settles back onto the sofa, pressing against her paramour.

“I come bearing peach and mango mixers,” Kakashi declares, holding up a plastic bag.

“Nice,” says Shikamaru, in such a lazy tone that it’s difficult to tell if he’s being sincere.

“Cool, thanks. You guys might want to check we actually have stuff to mix them with, though.”

“Let me see.” Sakura enters the kitchen and then peers into their little pantry. She pulls out a bottle of vodka, empty save for a single shot. “Who’s responsible for this?” she accuses, holding the item aloft.

“Who cares, just get some more. Look, Hatake hasn’t even taken his coat off yet. Go with him.”

“But I just showerrrred! _You_ go!”

“C’mon, Forehead, I’m cozy.”

Kakashi shrugs. “I don’t mind going alone.”

“No,” Sakura sighs, “I’ll come with. Give me a second.” She doubles back to the living room, grabs a cushion, and throws it at Ino’s head.

_“HEY!”_

“See you in a bit!” cackles Sakura, sweeping out the front door, followed by a highly amused Kakashi.

...

The closest liquor store is a fifteen minute walk away in a little square, nestled in a bustling neighbourhood shopping district. Christmas decorations are already up; the lights twinkling around the trees and above the heads of pedestrians as they go about their business. It is a cloudy night in mid-November, and Sakura finds herself romanced by the atmosphere of the electric starlight.

“You remembered the sparkling water, didn’t you?” asks Kakashi, pushing off from the wall outside the shop. Pakkun, dressed in a smart blue vest, trots beside him.

“Yeah, I heard you the first six times. Honestly I’ve never met anyone who loves fruity cocktails as much as you do.”

“Sakura, they’re delicious.”

“I’m not disputing you,” she reassures him, “just stating the facts.”

Items in hand, the trio join the throng to make their way back to the apartment, but are quickly separated in the busy crowd.  

“Shit,” mutters Sakura, hesitating.

“ _Oi!_ Over here!”

She spots Kakashi, arm raised and hair bright against the masses, and makes her way towards him. Once he confirms that she is following, he moves forward again. Perhaps she’s falling for this ludicrous seasonal marketing ploy, because she’s starting to get sentimental. Her breath mists in the chilly air. The lights are magic all around; the incoherent lyrics of Christmas carols rise above them. Sakura begins to feel a stupid, almost desperate ache to be loved.

So she pauses.

 _What are we?_ she wonders, as Kakashi continues, just a few steps ahead. A sense of stillness invades her body and she cannot bring herself to move. It is not a feeling she understands. Kakashi stops in the middle of the path and turns back, waiting for her to catch up. Sakura must be having a crisis, because for a long moment, nothing feels real. The crowd swells and bottlenecks around him. Sounds grow distant. The light bends. Time thickens.

His expression grows quizzical; the hint of a frown on his brow. “Everything okay?”

Time returns to its natural consistency. The stillness leaves her body. “Yeah,” she says, moving towards him. “All okay.”

She wants to take his hand. It would be so easy to close the distance, but she’s not sure she could handle the consequences. Her hand hovers between them, just below his natural line of sight, trapped in an aching limbo. The crowd comes between them and Sakura falls back again, divided by the throng. It feels like a metaphor; the sense of being swallowed up by some uncontrollable force. She watches him move further away and grows increasingly despondent.

She thinks of the last time she felt this way about another person; the boy she had been in love with all her young life, now reduced to a punchline. She recalls the way he broke her heart, over and over again. She recalls the night he left her behind for the last time; the worst time; the cold slant of his mouth and the hardness of his eyes; the way the shadows fell across his face. More than the words, more than the goodbye, she remembers this feeling.

Snapping out of her reverie, Sakura looks up and sees Kakashi, pushing towards her. He takes her hand smoothly, without an ounce of hesitation, and then they’re on the move again - together, this time. His hand is large and warm. Overcome with tender relief, Sakura fights the urge to cry.

 _What are we?_ She wonders.

...

...

...

A soft snowfall envelops the city. Kakashi is standing beneath a globed street lamp, frowning up at the light and blinking away the occasional snowflake. Sakura finds this endearing and staunchly reminds herself not to say so out loud.

“Did it insult your mother? Call you a dirty word?”

“What?” Kakashi looks over his shoulder to see her there, grinning cheekily, and doesn’t appear to be surprised in the least. She wishes she could catch him off-guard for once. For a change.

“You were frowning. Very intensely, I might add.”

“Oh.” He glances back, then moves towards her. “There’s a bug flying around in there,” he explains. “How the hell did it even get in?”

Sakura laughs. “Teleportation?” she guesses.

“Glad I can count on your sound deductive reasoning.”

Sakura slips her arm around his and gives it a slight tug. The pair make their way down the sparsely crowded street, upon which the curious hush of snowfall has descended. The pavement is cobbled brick, worn down smooth by the elements and decades of pedestrians. The neighbourhood, deep in the gentrified quarter of inner city, is charming, and yet the painstakingly manicured ‘quaint’ atmosphere indicates it is a place of wealth. This realization makes Sakura uncomfortable; as if she is moving through a make-believe world. She wonders about the things buried beneath its foundations, and what the city had to lose in order to gain…this.

 “D’you have their address?” asks Kakashi, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yup. It’s just a couple of blocks away.”

“I never thought I’d see the day Naruto and his _fiancée_ would host a grown-up new years’ party. It’s surreal.”

“God, at the rate they were going I thought Hinata would go insane. He is _so_ obtuse. And to be fair I’m not so sure she didn’t. Maybe that’s why she stuck around so long.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Oh believe me – that girl had – or has – her work cut out for her.”

“Y’know on his first day in class with me he told everyone he was going to become the president.”

“You’ve told me this. Several times.”

“ _Manage your expectations, punk!_ – is what I wanted to say. But now he’s basically marrying the Konoha equivalent of Malia Obama. So what do I know.”

Sakura giggles. “He’s always had a way of proving us wrong - which is kind of shitty because that makes it sound like we have no faith in him. But I’m glad that he does.”

“Mm.”

“Plus I’d feel comforted knowing that my president is a meme-lord. A man of the people, y’know?”

“Meme lord?”

Sakura shakes her head fondly. “It’s a good thing you’ve got me with you. How else would you communicate with the _youths?_ ”

“Heck, the less I know the better. Have you met young people? They’re ruthless and weird, and everything has to be ‘meta’. Pretty sure 90% of them have no idea what that even means.”

“Hur hur millennials are ruining everything boo hoo I don’t understand anything so I hate it- _OOF!!_ ”

Kakashi shoves her into a nearby hedge and walks away briskly, sniggering. Sakura staggers to her feet and chases after him, and the two wrestle for dominance.

“Ha!” he pants, grabbing her wrists, “you forget I am a man of combat! A warrior! A ninja! A-”

“You played Wii Boxing _once!_ ”

“Kicked your ass, didn’t I?”

Sakura pulls her wrists down, hoping to break Kakashi’s grip, but it only pulls him closer. Then before she knows it he’s right over her, the mist of his breath mingling with her own. She becomes acutely aware of the distance between them and stops struggling, half-panicked into stillness like a deer caught in headlights. Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears. He looks pensively at her face and she is afraid he sees everything.

“Oh,” he says softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek. Hold still.” Releasing his grip, Kakashi pulls off a glove and gently picks the hair off her skin. Sakura has stopped breathing. He balances it on the tip of his finger and holds it up to her mouth. “Make a wish.”

The flakes are larger now; drifting like feathers. _Oh hell,_ thinks Sakura dizzily, _I guess I’m still in love with him or something_. She is so overwhelmed that she blows the lash away without a thought in her head. He moves back, smiling, and the cold rushes in to occupy the space. It _always_ seems colder, after.

The pair continue in silence, finally stopping by the steps of a phenomenal marble entranceway attached to a brownstone building. “Goddamn,” breathes Sakura, awed.

“I mean, I knew the Hyuugas were rich as a sort of abstract concept,” confesses Kakashi, “but seeing a concrete visual representation really knocks the wind out of you.” He peers up at the beautiful pillars, carved ferns curling around the crown of each, and rests a palm against the smooth stone.

“Right,” agrees Sakura. Above them, the windows are glowing warm with light, and muffled sounds of a party spill out onto the street. “I’m glad I don’t have to go in alone.”

“Me too.” He offers her his hand, and she takes it.

...

Okay, so Sakura might be a little buzzed, but at least she isn’t as bad as Kakashi. As a drunk he’s a quiet nuisance - he hides Hyuuga Sr.’s reading glasses on the boughs of the Christmas tree, and stuffs “Rock” Lee’s coat inside the umbrella stand. Sakura watches in fascination as he then proceeds to drape himself across the shoulders of an equally-inebriated Shikamaru, who has accosted and is in the process of inflicting a bewildered Hyuuga relative with detailed accounts of political analysis. Kakashi catches Sakura’s eye and winks unsubtly.

“Hey, Forehead.” Ino, who is usually immaculately-dressed, is sporting smudged eyeliner and a plastic top hat that is covered in blue glitter. This is satisfying, somehow.  “Wow,” she says, looking around, “everyone’s shitfaced, huh?”

“So much for a tasteful adult affair.”

“Here, put this on,” says Ino, fumbling with another hat hanging off its elastic band on her arm. This one is gold.

“Thanks,” says Sakura, and takes another swig of punch. The punch tastes like 90% miscellaneous alcohol and 10% fruit juice – likely Naruto’s concoction, who has an impressive tolerance and doesn’t seem to understand that others might not. She bends forward to allow Ino to put the hat on her head. The strap cuts into her cheeks. “Where’s Tenten?”

“Last I saw? Kitchen. Don’t go looking for her.”

“Neiji?”

“Neiji.”

“Aah.” Sakura carelessly raises her glass and some punch slops over the rim. “Godspeed.” She downs the remaining contents, ignoring Ino’s raised eyebrow.

“What’s the deal with Hatake?” she asks.

“Deal? There’s no deal.”

“Sure. It’s ten minutes to midnight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ino shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just saying.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to kiss him? Or something?”

Ino shrugs again. “Or not. Whatever you want.”

Sakura narrows her eyes. “You think I want to,” she accuses.

“I think you guys have been eyeing each other all night, but what do I know?”

“He’s…been eyeing me?”

“Oh my god, Sakura. Why are you like this.”

“Whaaaaaaatttt?”

“It’s annoying as all hell, and it’s the same stupid dance you did when you were pining for Sasuke. Play ball or get the hell off the field.”

“Oh so now you’re some kind of baseball expert.” Ino pulls the hat off Sakura’s head and lets it snap back. “ _Ow!_ Okay, okay. Point made.”

“Look at that bastard.”

Sakura looks. “He _is_ a bastard,” she agrees. Kakashi has zoned out in the middle of the room and is staring into his glass like it holds the answers to the universe.

“Smooch the hell out of him. Tonight- _urrp_ – ‘scuse me – tonight’s the night.” Ino smacks her lips. “I’d better get some food in my body before I burp into Shikamaru’s mouth.”

“Bye,” says Sakura absently.

Five minutes to midnight. Someone turns the TV on, and tunes in to watch the countdown. Three minutes. Wait staff have begun circulating glasses of champagne. Two minutes. Temari and Neiji slip back into the room. One. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Sakura pushes through the crowd to Kakashi and slips her hand into his. He turns to her. Thirteen seconds. Twelve. He doesn’t turn away. Ten seconds. Nine. They are staring at each other and neither are laughing. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Sakura lifts her head, expectantly. Four. Three. Kakashi bends down. Two. His mouth hovers over her mouth. One.

The room erupts into cheers and auld lang syne blares over the speakers. Someone throws confetti into the air.

Kakashi does not kiss her. “Happy new year,” he says instead, and pushes back into the crowd.

Devastated, Sakura does not wait. She gets the hell off the field.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really impatient to upload this chapter so apologies if it doesn't flow too well. It basically follows Kakashi and Sakura through the seasons, which is why it's more like vignettes than anything else. Maybe when I'm done with this fic, I'll go back and make the tone of the writing more consistent across each chapter. But for now, you guys have to put up with my weird mood swings. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who took the time to leave feedback. You are so wonderful. I hope this mess of a story has been good to you.


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